


Facing Ruin, Facing All

by Ramzes



Series: Soaring High and Falling Hard [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-27 02:00:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20752478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramzes/pseuds/Ramzes
Summary: “His Grace wants to see you.”Faint discontent spread all along Brynden Rivers’ body like a clogged stream carrying the dirt and vegetation disrupted by a recent earthquake. He had expected that Aegon would prevail and he was discovering just now that he had hoped for an outcome a little different.





	Facing Ruin, Facing All

They came for him at night – he recognized that it was night because the black cells now shook only with the weeping of the ones waking up from unconsciousness inflicted by torture. No fresh screams assaulted his hearing, nor did the huff of effort from the torturers came as an undertone. They had gone off to sleep and the steps that approached his cell were too hesitant to belong to any of them.

The nameless prisoner, until recently the second most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms, blinked and tried to rise. He had no wish to meet them lying in the smelly darkness – and he had little doubt that they were coming for him. Hesitant but heavy steps. Steps of men who did not hide but had come at night anyway…

“His Grace wants to see you.”

Faint discontent spread all along Brynden Rivers’ body like a clogged stream carrying the dirt and vegetation disrupted by a recent earthquake. He had expected that Aegon would prevail and he was discovering just now that he had hoped for an outcome a little different.

He stumbled in front of the men, trying to regain some feeling in his extremities but it was pure agony after weeks? months? how long had it been? of utter, unremitting stillness. _I’m getting old_, he thought. For so many years, he had seldom stopped to try and guess how much of his discomfort was self-inflicted discipline and how much was just age.

At this time of night, the Red Keep was empty. Brynden supposed that he’d get a bucket of water – cold water – and some better smelling clothes before being brought into the King’s presence but as their steps kept echoing down the pavements of the long halls, he realized that the meeting would take place now. How intriguing!

Just when he mastered walking again, their walk ended with him being ushered into the King’s office. For a moment, Brynden paused at the door, remembering the Kings he had seen waiting for him here. Daeron… the very memory of him filled Brynden with warmth. Aerys… the thought of him revived the memories of power almost unlimited and so exhilarating, yet always reined in by the feeling of duty and loyalty. Friendship – Brynden could not say that he had ever had this many friends. Maekar… the unspoken of but never doubted appreciation of his own abilities. Maekar would never suffer incompetents unless he absolutely had to. Under him, Brynden had not had nearly as much power as he would have wanted to – but he had been relieved of the heaviest of responsibilities.

Before Aegon relieved him of all others, of course.

Brynden bowed and rose, noticing the icy look on the King’s face and reading through it, of course. Aegon was not feeling icy at all. In fact, he was seething with resentment.

“And here I thought the black cells killed prisoners,” he said. “How people exaggerate.”

“Your Grace should have told the walls about his wish,” Brynden replied. “Then and only then would have they obeyed. That’s how they work.”

For a while, Aegon kept his silence.

“The gaolers were ordered to take good care of you,” Betha spoke; turning at Aegon’s left, Brynden made out her white face in the darkness in the faintly lit chamber hat still swallowed her hair.

“They did,” Brynden said. “I came here on my own feet.”

Aegon looked uncomfortable and Betha’s lips tightened, just for a moment. _What did you think the black cells were,_ Brynden wondered. _The Seven help this realm, with rulers who refuse to acknowledge reality._ He did not cherish this particular bit of knowledge either, especially now, but he would not deny its existence.

“I cannot let you go,” Aegon said, unexpectedly returning to the onetime candour that had amused Brynden – and also touched him in a way he would have never admitted. “What you did – it was a vile thing, my lord. A deed of true dishonour.”

Brynden’s lips would have tugged into a smile, only it was too painful. He had not been harmed in the black cells but he had only been given a small mug of water daily. His skin felt like it would explode any moment now and his lips stung.

“And yet you made some good use of it, didn’t you?” he asked. “Not only were you rid of a dangerous opponent but you also got rid of the most powerful one among the those who knew that there was another claimant… or would have been if she even knew.”

Aegon blushed.

“My sister never stood any chance,” he said angrily. “Everything was done according to law. Everyone was allowed to press a claim…”

“Except for the one who had the most substantiated one,” Brynden said mildly. “Or have I imagined the discussions I had with your father? The fact that you agreed to support Daella in everything?”

“I would have!” Aegon replied heatedly. “I would have, if only Father had had the time to arrange the matter properly, declare her his heiress, make her husband his Hand. But he died and – do you think Daella and her Dornish husband stood any real chance?”

Now, Betha interrupted, her eyes full of genuine curiosity. “Would you have taught him?” she asked. “Alor? How to be a proper Hand? Taught your replacement?”

Brynden laughed, although his throat felt sandy. “You are quite a thing, girl,” he said. “If your husband listens to you, he might just do a good job. Yes, Betha, I would have. I’m not saying that I would have enjoyed it – but to be fair, I didn’t rely on Maekar dying before me.” For a moment, his gaze turned inward. Sometimes, he still woke up, believing that it had all been a bad dream. In his dreams, he was still the Hand and conspired with Maekar to overthrow tradition and custom in one bold move. Maekar was a survivor, always, repelling all the blows the Seven dealt him in a way that had somehow, somehow made Brynden think he was invincible. Well, he had not been. He shook these useless sentiments off and looked at his niece again. “I was honest, Betha. Now, I demand some honesty in turn. How do you feel about all of this? You have always been so firm in your conviction that women are worth as much as men, so they should inherit equally. Maekar wanted to apply this very law to his succession – your goodsister is Aegon’s senior. How do you feel about cheating her out of a throne without even letting her know about it?”

Betha blushed furiously. “It isn’t cheating!” she exclaimed angrily. “This… this is the law, the way it is now.”

So, this was her way of rationalizing it. Or perhaps she had been all words and she had rejected the world of male dominance on a conscious level while remaining deeply attached to it in her core. To his surprise, Brynden felt a little disheartened at the realization that cynicism of reality had overpowered those two.

“Why did you summon me?” he asked, suddenly willing for all of this to end, no matter the outcome. He was not sure he’d want a life without power anyway, but he wouldn’t give those who hated him the satisfaction of breaking his skull against the wall.

“I appreciate the fact that you saved the realm,” Aegon started.

_You have a peculiar way of showing it, _Brynden thought but did not say it.

“And you still have some friends who spoke on your behalf.”

Now, this was a surprise. Brynden looked from King to Queen, wondering what they were talking about. Shiera was the only one who would ever try to shield him but she was not held in high regard by the royal couple.

“I cannot set you free,” Aegon went on. “It’s going to look bad. But you can take the black. The black cloak or the black cells – what do you prefer?”

Brynden laughed again. “Why, you’re so generous in giving me choice,” he said. “Even one that is no choice at all. I’ll take the black cloak, Your Grace. The black cloak it is.”

Aegon nodded with visible relief. Betha’s sternness melted and she let out a deep sigh of content. Brynden did not care for either of them. And he did not feel he owed them a thing. He had guarded Aegon’s life over the years; he had eased Betha’s acceptance at court. He had won them the crowns they now wore, letting them keep their hands clean. _I owe them no loyalty_, he thought. _The Kings I loved and respected are now gone. _Aegon had little of his father’s iron will and even less, of his grandfather’s diplomatic skills. But he did not feel that he needed Lord Bloodraven and his wealth of experience. He’s going to make a court of his own now. _And he doesn’t want any ghosts – I can’t really blame him._

With Maekar, he had been needed – a figure from the King’s own childhood and youth, someone Maekar might not have liked but had appreciated. Brynden wondered what the reverse would have felt like. He had the feeling that he wouldn’t have liked it.

At the door, he turned and gave the chamber one last look in a silent farewell to his rising, his zenith, his power, his youth and life. The guards started murmuring that the bastard sorcerer was busy laying a curse on the King but Brynden could not care less where Aegon _was_. All he could fathom was that after all those years of playing the game, he now faced exile. Ruin.

“When am I to leave?” he asked when their way did not veer off to any exit.

“In a few days.”

_Then where are you taking me_, he wondered. His head was swimming, wrapped in such thick mist that he did not even hear when they arrived at their destination. Only when Shiera washed his face clean and put a familiar soothing ointment on his empty eyesock, his head cleared somewhat – enough for him to move his arms and legs when she told him to, so she could undress him for the bath she had had drawn. Not a hot one. Just warm, nice, refreshing.

“I’m taking the black,” he said, turning his face into her palm when the water turned cold and she helped him out. “That was the choice Aegon gave me. I’m facing ruin.”

She did not offer empty reassurances and protests. This was one of the things that had drawn him to her – she had little patience for useless lies. Instead, she pressed her face against his back and held him – not quite tight, out of fear for his health but close enough to let him know that he was loved.

In the next few days, it was a rare thing for her to leave him alone even as he slept. In fact, his sleep was disturbed if he did not feel her close by, warm and solid, so she took to reading her books in bed as he slept his exhaustion and pains away. But sometimes, when he was awake, she was in the next room or out in the garden and then Brynden could hear, with the sharpened hearing that the black cells had given him, the servants gossiping about their mistress almost losing her mind with worry over him. About her losing her temper. Not engaging in any entertainments, be they intellectual or carnal. She had been so devastated. _As if she loves me_, he thought. He had never doubted the depth of her devotion but it still filled him with helpless anger to hear it spoken about now. _Why now_, he railed inwardly. _Why are you showing it now? When I’m facing ruin? When I’m facing nothing?_

Her devotion was another thing that he would lose – it would have been much easier if he managed to convince himself that it had never been there at all.


End file.
